Possession
by WitheringSage
Summary: Sophia argues against Lancelot's possessiveness. Tristan confronts Raja about her past with Galahad.


**Possession**

_And I would be the one  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I'll take your breath away  
And after I'd wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes dear_

Chronology: Tristan is 29. Lancelot is 27. Raja is 19.

The rain beat violently against the outside world as Raja attempted to stoke the fire to a roar inside the darkened cave. Galahad lay shivering not a few feet away from her, nude under a fur blanket. Each of them had separated during a battle, coming at the enemies from different points. The deluge was blinding, and flooding. Galahad has fallen into an icy pond, it had been a mere drizzle then, so he was only a bit damp when he was submerged. He had hit his head, now suffering from a concussion, and it was too dark for Raja to maneuver the two of them back to the rest of the group. She had found a cave, stripped him of his soaked clothes, and placed him as close to the fire as she could. She had made him tea, but his shivering still would not abate. Odin and Amarak, Galahad's mount, were huddling under a thick copse of trees. Horus had been sent out to alert the others that they were safe.

"I think that's as high as I can get it for now," she told him. "I'll keep kindling it throughout the night." Raja adjusted the padding under Galahad's head, then rearranged his shed garments so they might evenly dry next to the flames.

"It's okay," he replied, "it's getting a bit warmer under here." He attempted a feeble smile, looking at Raja. Her clothes were damp, too, and her lips held a slight hue of blue. Immediately, he felt like a lump, she had a more difficult time in the cold than anyone else he knew.

"Hey, don't even think about it," she said, catching his expression. "You are worse off than I." Raja put the rest of the blankets on top of him, wrapping his feet in one of the smaller ones. "I am going out to do a quick sweep, even though I doubt anybody would be trekking in this weather." About fifteen minutes later she returned, soaked to the bone. She laid her own cloak out next to his clothes in attempt to dry.

He cleared his throat. "You need these blankets as much as I do."

That was something she had been trying to avoid. Sleeping in her wet clothes most likely would not do. And the last resort was to huddle nude with him under the covers to share body warmth. She stoked the fire absently.

"I hardly doubt this is the time for modesty, Raja," Galahad spoke. _Oh, stop pushing, you idiot, she's going to think you're trying to seduce her! – Even though I am not, _his logical side told him.

Raja nodded. She sat above his head so he could not see, not used to being naked in front of any man save Tristan – and took of her clothes. She wrapped a blanket around herself, and to her consolation, Galahad tried to be as discreet as possible as she slid under the mass of cloth next to him.

"I need you to stay awake for a bit longer, all right? Just until your body temperature increases a bit." Raja sidled a bit closer to him, until she was lying atop him, using her body to heat his. "Too heavy?"

His chest rumbled in amusement. "Not at all." He was slowly becoming more aware of her soft breasts pressing against his chest, her head resting perfectly in the crook of his shoulder. She moved her hand to clasp one of his, registering the ice cold of them.

"Here." She lifted herself up on her elbows so he could place his hands on his ribs – his groin twitched when he caught the slope of her breasts – then she lowered herself back down and he felt the flush of warmth as his fingers thawed. "I apologize, this is probably very uncomfortable for you."

He smiled wryly. _Oh it is, but not in the way you think._ Thanks the gods she could not see his erection pitching a tent under the blankets. When she adjusted her weight his member tightened. With every moment his body was in contact with hers, a tumult of thoughts raced through his mind. What would it be like to make love to her in this cave? Instead of her atop him, it would be the opposite – he wanted to hear her moans hit the walls of their shelter, he wanted his seed to spill inside of her-

"Galahad? Your heart is beating rather fast," she said, breaking through his fantasies. She turned her head upwards to look at him. He had grimace on his face. "Are you in pain?" She raised herself further, moving up to feel his forehead. Raja was not aware of the effect she was having on him – she was never aware of the effect she had on a lot of men. To her, she was only concerned for Galahad's health.

"No, no, I'm fine," he insisted. "Really," he cleared his throat. "Just fine."

Reluctantly, she assumed her previous position. "Are you hands numb?"

"They're warm now." She released his hands from the pressure of her body, and now they lay down at his sides awkwardly.

They settled down again, and with the quiet, his mind wandered. Where was he? Ah yes, emptying himself inside of her. Such ideas melted into the past, and he then remembered quite vividly of the day, five years ago, when for hours, he had held her in his arms as his tongue moved with hers, her velvet lips whispering against his. In an unconscious movement, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

Eventually, he fell asleep, leaving his safety in the care of Raja. She wafted into a light sleep, aware of the abating rain. She got up every now and again to keep the fire going, unaware that Galahad had woken up during one of those times, watching her through slit eyes at her body, running his eyes over her scars, the toned muscles, and the creamy brown of her skin. He turned his head the other way, and throughout the night, niggles of regret poked at him – would she have been his if he had not slept with that woman in the stables the same day he had so passionately kissed Raja?

------------------------------------------

Tristan had been sent ahead to retrieve Raja and Galahad, Horus and Penelo leading the way. He spotted Odin and Amarak, and they trotted over to the cave where the two were residing. Raja heard the hooves of Odin in the distance, the caws of the two winged creatures. She felt for Galahad's temperature, noting the slight heat of his person. Their clothes were fairly dry, but it would be a trial to put them back on. Just as she was putting the covers back over Galahad, her cloak wrapped around her, Tristan entered the cave.

His relief at finding her safe was complete. He embraced her, kissing her on the forehead – but then he noticed that she was only wrapped in her cloak, and then her clothes...and Galahad's drying by the fire. He looked at her through narrowed eyes. And always attuned to Tristan's feelings, Raja preempted him.

"Do not, Tristan," she hissed quietly. Tristan pursed his lips, his jaw ticking.

"Get dressed," he said.

"See to him." Raja gestured towards Galahad. "He has a fever."

A low growl emanated from deep in his chest, but he complied nonetheless. On missions, he could not let his personal feelings rule over his obligations. While she donned her clothes, Tristan prodded the ill man awake. Raja tossed him Galahad's clothes, and he helped him put his clothes back on, too, as he was weak and groggy. By the time everything was packed, the fire stamped out, the others had found them.

"Is he okay?" Gawain asked. He dismounted, taking Galahad from Tristan.

"A fever," Tristan replied shortly.

They had to stop later that night to camp. The men were aware of Tristan's taciturnity in the wake of calm.

"Gods, what the hell is wrong with him," Gawain muttered as he settled Galahad comfortably, waiting for Dagonet to make his herbal remedy.

Galahad chuckled slightly, his mirth turning into a raspy cough. "I think he found us when Raja and I were...uh...nude under the blankets."

Gawain's eyes opened to the size of saucers.

"Not what you think. She was trying to keep me warm, probably would have froze to death if she hadn't done what she did." He coughed again.

"I don't think freezing to death should have been your first concern." Gawain hmmphed in amusement.

Galahad snorted and waved his hand dismissively. There was no more talk about it when Dagonet walked over to give him the foul tasting brew.

--------------------------------------------

When they arrived back at the fort in late afternoon the next day, Tristan was still not talking to Raja. She ignored his tantrum, taking a warm bath before drinking one of her own tonic medicates to ward off the irritation in her lungs that would surely blaze into a torrent of violent coughs. While her lover tended to his own needs, she went to see if Galahad was faring any better.

"How is he?" she asked Dagonet, who was feeding the sick man warm broth.

"Hmm, his fever is rising and falling. Probably be on bed rest for a week at the least."

"Let me do that, Dag. You haven't rested since we've gotten back." She took the bowl and spoon from him, shooing the tall knight away.

She continued to feed Galahad until the broth was gone. Despite his fever, he seemed to have a fair appetite. "Sorry I could not prevent this, Galahad."

"Eh?" He smiled wanly. "I would have been worse off if you had not laid on me. For a small woman, you keep a man rather warm."

Raja snorted, realizing that he would not be speaking so baldly if it were not for his fever. "Try to sleep." She pulled his quilts up to his chin. As she was about to stand, his hand shot out and caught her wrist.

"Wait." His eyes became lucid, his face serious. "That night, when I was holding you, I could not help but think about that day when I kissed you."

Her eyebrows raised a fraction, a slight blush creeping up her neck. "Oh?"

"Yeah." His hand slid from her wrist to hold her hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. "And I kept wondering...if I had not..." – he coughed – "slept with that woman, I wondered...if you would have become mine...and not Tristan's."

Raja said nothing, no words came forth for her to respond.

"You do not have to say anything," he asserted. "But I did have one question, and I will not be angry if you do not answer."

"All right."

He paused. "If you and Tristan were not..." – that conjecture drifted – "could you see yourself...with a man like me?" But his body was so heavy, his mind hazy, and his hand dropped from hers as he fell into a deep sleep.

Raja sat there for a moment or two, thinking about his question. She heard distant footsteps in the hall, and her reverie broke. She collected the dirty dishes and left the room.

---------------------------------------------

Lancelot had found Sophia in the Infirmary, assisting the physician with some wounded Roman foot soldiers. She was the only woman in there, and the more coherent soldiers were ogling her, obviously having come back from a long, woman-less trek only to be immediately convalesced due to their injuries. When he saw one of those Romans smile, and thank his woman with a kiss on the back of her hand – which she gracefully pulled away – an unidentifiable emotion flared inside of him. Lancelot cleared his throat.

"Lancelot!" Sophia rushed to him, planting her lips on his. He pulled her close, giving the Roman a look of pure hell over her shoulder.

"Are you finished here?" he asked.

"She's done," Dedalus, the physician spoke. "Thank you, Sophia, you have been an invaluable help to me."

"Of course," she replied.

"Yes, I thank you as well, Sophia," the Roman called from his cot.

Lancelot pulled her by the hand from the room before she could answer the soldier. Once they were outside he crushed his lips to hers in a deeper, longer kiss. When they pulled apart, Sophia sucked in a breath, her cheeks rose-red. "I think someone missed me."

Lancelot chuckled. "Well, I'm not the only one who was missing someone."

The two of them seemed to evaporate to her bedroom, where hours later they lay sated together under the warm sheets. Lancelot was still nuzzling her neck, small sounds of contented pleasure vibrating against her skin.

After a time, he spoke, breaking the peaceful cadence in the room. "Who was that Roman that was pawing over you?" He tried to make it sound casual, but his words were laced with that – once again – indefinable feeling that bordered on venomous.

Sophia lifted her head a fraction from his chest, her face quizzical. "What Roman?"

"The one in the Infirmary. He was slobbering all over you." His second attempt at a care-free comment failed.

Her musical laughter tinkled against him. "I think slobbering is a bit of an exaggeration, Lancelot."

He grunted in humorless disagreement. "That the first time he tried it?" Casual be damned. Lancelot pulled her closer against him.

"If I didn't know any better," she said whimsically, "I would say you sound very much like a jealous lover right now."

Lancelot barked a somewhat forced laugh. Jealous? Him? No. Was that the stomach churning feeling that raged within him whenever he saw a man reach out to her in the tavern, or try to pull her onto their laps? The feeling that gurgled deep inside at the thought of her in another man's embrace... "No one is jealous," he scoffed.

"Good then. Because you have nothing to be jealous of." She propped herself up on her elbow, stroking his cheek.

"Good. Because I _do_ expect you to keep your legs shut to any man but me, I hope you know." Couldn't take that one back, came out too fast, came out nothing like it sounded in the back of his throat. He had tried for drollery but it had come out as a caustic order.

Sophia's soft hand stopped her caresses, the gentle expression on her face shuttered into piqued bemusement. "I do know that." Her eyebrows rose mockingly. "And I do expect you to keep your legs shut to any woman but me...I hope you know." Sophia smirked at him, kissing him on the cheek before snuggling herself back into the crook of his shoulder.

_Where had that conversation come from, you idiot?_ He stared at the ceiling, running his fingers through Sophia's hair as she drifted off._Jealousy? That's a new feeling for me. But I've been having a lot of new feelings since I met this woman in my arms. _With those new emotions came conflicting thoughts. It was odd to be so consumed with one woman, worrying about her when you were away on a routine patrol, hoping that no men were trying to get her into their clutches – and then being furious at the very idea. Lancelot smiled to himself in the dark. Everything became magnified when he fell in love, a lot of things that had seemed important before held no such sway over him anymore. Instead of chugging back ale and catching as many a woman's eye as he could in the evenings, he now drank his drinks leisurely, aware of Sophia's every movement as she served the patrons in the tavern. It was nice having a warm, familiar body to fall asleep next to, and wake up to in the morning. He chuckled softly again at this new path he was on. One he never thought he could have ever taken.

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After Tristan had overheard Raja's and Galahad's conversation earlier that day, he disappeared without a word to anyone. First, she lays naked next to him with no one else around, and then he learns that they were once physically involved. The severity of his ire disallowed him to take into account that Galahad had said "kissed" and nothing more. He had thought he was the only man to claim Raja's lips, as she had led him to believe. And how long ago did this even take place? After they became lovers?

His theories and concerns followed him all the way back to their bedroom. It was late now, and he was not so surprised to find her in bed, asleep. After patrols she did rest quite a bit more afterwards. Tristan sighed and shed his clothes down to his shirt and breeches. He slid into bed next to her, but did not pull her to him as he normally would have. Instead, he watched her placid face, listened to her soft breathing.

_Were you unfaithful to me, Raja? _he asked her silently. _And if you were, with him? Galahad? _Deep down he knew that Raja could never be unfaithful to him, not even to a mere kiss! No one could ever get her to betray someone she loved, disloyalty was aberrant to her. So why the doubts?

Raja stirred, shuddering in her sleep. Tristan knew what caused those shudders, and it was not the cold. His anger was momentarily forgotten as he moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her, his hand pressing against her back. Raja sidled against him, her head resting underneath his chin. Tristan heard her quiet mumble against his chest, "I love you, Trissy."

-------------------------------------------------

Lancelot and Sophia were enjoying a nice breakfast in the tavern, of course, that was until that _Roman_ sauntered – or rather limped – over and sat down across from them, completely ignoring the presence of Lancelot. The man smiled charmingly at Sophia. Her eyes registered a hint of surprise, and her body stiffened slightly next to Lancelot's, who was giving the man the glare of a thousand deaths.

"Sophia," the Roman drawled, "I just had to thank you once again for taking such good care me over the past couple of weeks."

_Weeks?! _Lancelot fumed.

"You needn't continue to thank me, Marcus," she said as politely as she could. She could feel Lancelot's increasing annoyance.

Marcus went on ignoring the other man in company. "Well," – he reached into his tunic and produced a rather lush red rose – "I wanted to give this to you as a gift...of my gratitude."

"Oh." Her eyes flashed sideways to Lancelot. She took the rose, Marcus's fingers brushed slightly against hers as she took his gift. "This is very kind of you." The tension in the air escalated.

"I was wondering-" But his words were cut off from Lancelot's grating clearing of his throat.

Marcus finally acknowledged him with a condescending gaze. Lancelot put his arm around Sophia's waist possessively. "If you do not mind," Lancelot bit out his words, "my woman and I are in the middle of our breakfasts."

Marcus guffawed. "My lady, I had no idea you were spoken for! I apologize, sir, I thought you were merely a friend."

Lancelot grunted. "Perhaps you might excuse the two of us." He stood, looking pointedly at Sophia. She bit her lip and stood with him, his arm assuming its place around her once again.

"Thank you for the flower," she repeated. But even before her words were completely uttered, Lancelot was ushering her away and out the door.

"That bastard!" he spat. "Arrogant Roman bastard!" Before he could think, he snatched the flower from her hand and savagely ripped the petals into mulch. "He's lucky I didn't gut him where he stood!"

"Lancelot!" She grabbed the remains of her gift from him.

"Oh, I'll get you another one! You didn't really think I would let you keep that, did you? Especially a gift from a Roman."

Sophia paused. "_Let me_ keep it? Since when did you think you had the right to dictate what I can and cannot have?"

His lips pressed together. "Since you became mine, and you answer to me." A part of him could hear what he was speaking, the utter nonsense of it. He sounded like...like...Tristan! And Lancelot finally understood what caused the scout to sound as _he_ did.

"Do I now?" Sophia crossed her arms over her chest, incidentally pushing her bosom up.

He let out a gust of air in attempt to calm himself, but it did no good. His feelings were all over the place and he couldn't think clearly. "Oh, just keep the damned thing!" He waved his hand dismissively and stalked off, leaving a rather bewildered Sophia in his wake.

--------------------------------------------

Tristan woke to an empty bed, he had not even heard Raja wake and leave. He rolled on his back and rubbed the vestiges of sleep from his eyes...and his ruminations of yesterday all came flooding back. He gritted his teeth and swung himself to a sitting position. He slipped his boots on, tunic and coat, splashed water on his face and exited the room. Raja wasn't in the stables, but Jols told him that she went for a ride. Tristan saddled and mounted Dyne, knowing exactly where Raja was. He found her reading a book under the oak tree at their place. When she heard him approach, she turned and smiled, but something faltered in her expression when she saw his face.

Tristan let Dyne graze. "Where did you go so early this morning?"

Raja looked at him, surprised. No kiss, no smile. "I went to see how Galahad was doing, he was not faring so well yesterday."

"_Galahad_," Tristan sniped.

She sighed. "Tristan, you are not still upset over _that_ are you? You know why I did what I did, I had to keep him warm. You _know_ that."

Sure, sure, he knew. And he had promised her years ago that he would _try_ to curb his jealousies. "I'm sure you kept him very warm."

She let out an exasperated groan. She shut her book and replaced it in her satchel. "You are being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Maybe not so ridiculous, Raja. Maybe you enjoyed keeping him nice and cozy." _I could not help but think about that day when I kissed you...the day that I kissed you...kissed you...kissed you... _"Was that all you did?"

Raja's mouth opened in shock, and she shot up to her feet. "Just what are you implying?"

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, casually leaning against a tree.

"If you are accusing me of sleeping with him, you had better get that idea out of your mind...now." Behind the anger, there was hurt.

"Did you?" His face was expressionless.

Raja said nothing, not quite believing what she was hearing. "I will not justify that with an answer."

"Have you ever done anything with him, Raja?" Tristan asked again, suggestion in his voice.

Now she was completely dumbstruck. She had never forgotten the day she and Galahad had spent hours kissing...no, she had never forgotten that. "Why are you asking me this?" Her voice was but a whisper.

"I heard the two of you talking yesterday. Answer my question," he retorted evenly.

"Five years ago, yes, he and I kissed. All right?"

"Five years ago?" His eyebrows quirked in speculation.

"Yes. Quite a while ago, wouldn't you say?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Despite her honesty, he was not satisfied.

She scoffed. "Have you told me about all the women you've been with, Tristan?"

He hid his wince. He did not particularly like to be reminded of "all the women." It made him feel as if he had been unfaithful to her all those years. "I think that is different."

"Of course," she said dryly. "It's always different. That is the way you always justify it."

He ignored her. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Are you deriving pleasure from this? You are only making yourself angrier, fueling your completely asinine-"

"Answer the question!" he barked.

"Oh, fine! Yes, it was quite pleasant!"

Tristan's chest puffed, his knuckles were white, but his face was a fiery red as he now stood in front of her, bearing his hardened eyes at her. "You kissed another man."

"You have_ fucked_ other women. And don't you dare say it is different." She poked her finger at him.

"When was it?"

She cursed in Arabic. "Why don't I just tell it all to you! It was the month I left with my Uncle. Galahad helped me build my birdhouses, which _you_ normally helped me with, but of course, you were too busy avoiding me like the plague those past months. I was not watching my footing as I came down from the tree, and he caught me, and when I was in his arms, well, he looked at me and kissed me. We kissed for _hours_." Her smile was poison, unrepentant.

"You kissed him because he _looked_ at you?" he asked incredulously.

"You wouldn't understand," she said, defeated.

"Try me."

Raja breathed heavily. "He looked at me with desire, like I was beautiful. He wanted _me_."

_I wanted you then, too_, Tristan thought.

"No one had ever looked at me like that before," she lamented. "All my life, the only thing people said about me, mostly women, was how abnormal I looked. Ugly."

Though his anger was still swimming, he felt pangs of compassion. "You were never ugly, Raja."

She laughed bitterly. "That is what you always said. But you never told me otherwise. Never. Galahad was the first man to ever call me beautiful, and mean it."

"You were beautiful, you still-"

"Do not try to convince me of that now. You told me I was not ugly, but then you went and lay with the very women who were the ones spewing insults behind my back. I always knew you were lying."

"I wasn't," he insisted, taking a step towards her.

She backed up, not wanting him close to her. "Stop. You stand there, and accuse me of betrayal, when all the time, it was you who was being the hypocrite."

"Hypocrite?"

"Yes. How can you say that I was not ugly, then go and sleep with the women who disparaged me so? The _normal_ looking women, as I called them. With their brown or blonde hair, and brown, blue or green eyes. Their fair skin. It was _those_ women who you thought beautiful. And you have the audacity to point blame on _me_?"

"I never thought them beautiful."

"Liar!" she yelled.

Tristan was taken aback at her vehemence. This was not where he was expecting the conversation to go when he had initially approached her. He had let his petty jealousies open old wounds he had not even known she had.

"Something attracted you to them. Would you have bedded them if you had thought they were hideous Tristan?"

Silence.

"_Would_ you? What made you go to them, Tristan? Other than the fact that you wanted a cheap fuck? What made you leave me all those times so you could cavort with those women who said such hurtful things about me?!"

"I never knew I was hurting you, Raja." He tried to take her in his arms again, comfort her, but she would have none of it.

"Well, it does not much matter now." Her voice became calm, she called for Odin. "But don't you ever accuse me of being unfaithful again. Forget your jealousy, Tristan. I am not in love with Galahad, but I was attracted to him. Perhaps not for the right reasons, but for the first time in my life, I felt beautiful. That was all." She mounted Odin without another word, and rode off.

Tristan slumped against the tree, exhausted. _What the hell have I done?_

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About an hour later after sitting and brooding in the forest, Tristan was grooming Dyne in the stables when Lancelot huffed in, muttering to himself as if he were having an ongoing conversation inside of his head. Tristan ignored it for a while, never one to butt into another's business – unless it was Raja's, of course, - but the man's mumbling was growing to be a nuisance, and he was disturbing Adonis and the rest of the horses.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Tristan asked.

Lancelot looked up from his brush as if noticing Tristan for the first time. "Women!"

Tristan narrowed his eyes, a small smirk on his face. He turned his head away. "You mean woman."

Lancelot threw his brush down, finished with it. Obviously he had some venting to do. "What is wrong with them? You try to look out for them and they get all defensive!"

Tristan nodded imperceptibly.

Lancelot went on: "I mean, am I supposed to just sit there and watch as another man, a Roman, slobbers all over my woman?"

Tristan gave a small grunt of agreement.

"She thinks it is _her_ I do not trust, but it's the _men_ I don't trust."

Grunt.

"I don't care how feisty a woman is, she will always have a hell of a time defending herself against a man twice her size."

Grunt.

"Not that that has happened yet, but..." Lancelot pointed his finger in the air, "...but if it were, then where the hell would I be? I would have to skewer the bastard!"

Grunt.

"Is it so wrong for a man not to want another man to touch his woman?!"

Grunt.

"To undress her with his eyes!"

By now Tristan was leaning against the stall door, arms and legs crossed. He grunted again in concurrence.

"All this time I thought you were just insane, Tristan," – Tristan's eyes shot to Lancelot from underneath his bangs – "I thought all your possessiveness was just an excuse to shed blood whenever a man looked at Raja," – the other man glowered at him – "but now I understand that it's...it is..." Lancelot stopped his feverous pacing, lost for the word he wanted. "Shit!" His chest heaved, breath spent from his ravings. "What is it?"

After a moment, Tristan uttered words that rendered Lancelot dumb, yet made total sense to him. "You found someone you love more than anything, and it's only natural to want to protect her. And the only thing worse than her being in pain, is not being able to do anything about."

Lancelot stared at him in silence. That was probably the most Tristan had ever said to him in one sitting. "And that is why you're such a jealous bastard."

Tristan snorted. "I prefer protective. But if I'm a jealous bastard, then so are you."

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Sophia had just finished changing the sheets in the infirmary. It wasn't really a regular thing to assist in here, but Dedalus had needed her help, and she found she rather liked being around the herbs, taking care of others. She fluffed one of the pillows then patted it down on the bed.

"I thought I might find you in here."

A small gasp escaped from Sophia's throat as she turned around to meet Marcus. Inwardly, she groaned, and she did not have a good feeling. She truly was not attracted to Marcus, and did find his come-ons to be rather tiresome, but it wasn't like her to be rude by nature, so she had tried to take it in stride.

"Hello, Marcus," Sophia said. "I just finished here." But he was blocking the door, and she could not make a hasty exit.

Marcus leered at her, stroking her up and down with his eyes. "I wanted to speak with you alone, without your friend." The word 'friend' was laced with deprecation.

"Lancelot is my lover," she claimed haughtily. "And I don't really wish to speak with you at all." She made for the door but he stood his ground.

He towered over her, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. "I think it is better we're alone." When he took one step forward, she took one back until she was against the wall. He put his hands on her shoulders, slightly massaging them.

She shook him off. "Don't touch me."

"Sophia," he tsked as if he were truly disappointed. "And I thought you were so complacent all this time." He pushed against her so she could feel his bulging erection against her hip. "But I can tame you."

Sophia kneed him right where he had been touching her behind his pants, but he came back fast, grabbing her elbow before she could reach the door. They tumbled towards the floor, and despite his injury, she was no match for him. Marcus gritted his teeth, bearing all his weight down. When she struggled, he slapped her across the face. She clawed at him with her nails, writhing violently.

"Bastard," she spat.

Marcus caught Sophia's flailing arms, pinning them over her head. He tore the front of her dress so only her thin chemise showed, and groped her breasts roughly. When she opened her mouth to scream, he slammed his hand over it, but her teeth caught the side of his hand and bit down – hard.

"Bitch!" he yelled.

His surprise gave Sophia the escape to move from underneath him, but he seized the hem of her dress, which ripped from his tight grasp. He clutched her ankle, but her other foot caught him in the shoulder. He yanked and she went down in a heap, hitting her head against the wooden floor. Stars flickered in front of her until she was turned on her back to face his demonic visage. He struggled with his breeches, but she was having a damned time getting her senses, she had hit her head harder than she thought. Sophia felt air hit the bare of skin, but then Marcus was being lifted off of her, and crashing came from a few feet away. She shook the daze from her head, getting up slowly, stumbling.

"Lancelot!" Sophia gaped at him as he pummeled the Roman senseless. She grabbed his shoulders. "Stop! Lancelot!" But he paid her no heed. The other man's face was a mask of blood, his nose was crushed. When she got a firm hold on his arm and pulled, Lancelot finally noticed her and stopped his beating.

"Fucking bastard." The Roman was forgotten as he observed Sophia's hair in disarray, her ripped dress, her bosom on the verge of hanging out. She would certainly have a shiner in the morning. Her wrists were already developing bruises from Marcus's viselike grip.

Sophia was breathing heavily, recovering from the shock of the attack. Lancelot squashed her against his chest, feeling her shaking body. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize," he said into her hair.

Sophia laughed.

"But obviously," Lancelot reprimanded, "I had every right to act as I was." He kicked Marcus's leg, he was completely unconscious. "Let's go." He put his cloak over Sophia.

"But-"

"What in God's name has happened here?" Dedalus had entered the room, unbeknownst to them. He looked down, shocked, at the bloodied Marcus, then at Lancelot who had blood on his knuckles. When he took in Sophia's untidy appearance, he understood. "Are you all right, Sophia?"

"Does she look all right?" Lancelot snapped.

Dedalus paid no mind to the man's tone. "Well, you two best be off then. I will take care of this."

Lancelot nodded and spirited Sophia away before she could say anything more. When they had gone, Dedalus shook his head despairingly at Marcus. He nudged his head with his shoe in disgust. "Your mother is turning over in her grave."

-----------------------------------------------

Tristan had thought for hours about how he would explain himself to Raja. And when he thought that his speech was adequate he went to their bedroom. Raja was taking clean clothes from her drawer, ready to make for the bath. She ignored Tristan, obviously still angry with him.

He cleared his throat. "I need to speak with you."

She scoffed. "I think you have said enough."

"Please."

"No, Tristan. We have said all there is to say. I apologize for speaking to you as I did, I was just angry that you questioned my loyalty."

"There is more to this, Raja."

"What more could there possibly be? Are you going to accuse me of sleeping with other men, as well?" she said flippantly.

Tristan's jaw tightened. "I was not going to accuse you of anything. I wanted to explain."

She stared coldly at him for a moment. "You will just have to wait then." She stalked out of the room. So Tristan waited, and when she came back, she acted as if he were not there. She donned her robe and sat in front of the fire, drying her hair. But he knew she was listening, so he sat in the armchair in front of the fire, looking at the side of her face.

He sighed and ran his hand down his face, all the things he had arranged in his mind to say suddenly left him, so he began with the first thing that came to his mind. "I always liked the idea that I was the only man you've trusted with your body. That I was your first...everything. So I was..." – pissed was an understatement – "...that you and Galahad..." He paused, waiting to see if she would say anything, when she did not, he continued. "I understood what you said. I was avoiding you back then, but not for the reasons you think." Gods, how was he going to explain this part to her? "I felt guilty and ashamed because...I wanted you then, too."

Now, Raja stopped, turning to him questioningly.

"Ever since you were a child, I guess I always thought of you as mine. I...loved you then, differently then I did later, but I loved you all the same. And when you got older and grew, I began to notice the changes...in your body. And you were still young, but you felt a woman to me, and it wasn't right for me to respond to you the way I was. I hid it from you, stopped sleeping in my room because I did not want you to ever notice my arousal when you slept next to me."

Raja's brow creased. "You...desired me?" she asked quietly.

His eyes closed briefly, nodding. "It was not right then. And I could not risk you becoming frightened of me."

"I would never be frightened of you, Tristan."

He smiled solemnly. "It would have been different between us Raja. You were still wary around men, you cannot tell me otherwise."

She said nothing.

He exhaled roughly. "You were always beautiful to me."

Raja bit her lip. "And the other women?"

Tristan cringed inwardly.

Raja laughed lightly. "You are a man, Tristan. And though you may not be as shallow as most, even you cannot help but take notice of a woman's assets."

Tristan puffed wryly. "And you?" He tried for self-possession, but there was still a bite to his words.

"I notice men." Tristan did his best not to stiffen. "But just because I can note their appearance, does not mean that I want them. I have never thought of being with any other man but you."

He swallowed heavily. "Not even Galahad?"

"Tristan," she hissed.

"Raja, please," – he squeezed his eyes shut – "just..." He had to know. "Did you want to be with him then?"

Raja hesitated. "The thought...crossed my mind, but when it did, it frightened me." When he did not comment, she knew he had more questions.

"Have you ever thought of him when you and I were making love?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Tristan...you fill me completely when we so much as kiss or embrace, that there is never any place for another." Raja moved to sit at his feet, and took his hands in hers.

Tristan leaned his forehead against hers, her answers relieving him. He kissed her, and fell to his knees to take her in his arms.

"Trissy," she breathed, "you are the only person on this earth that I trust completely with my body, and all of me. Understand?"

Tristan was already groping her, his hands running under her shift. "You are the only person I trust, as well." His voice came out husky, needy.

"But what of you?" She pushed him away gently. "Have you ever fantasized about another woman?"

"I am a man, but another woman in my mind is one thing that has never, and will never again, debase me. It was you I dreamed of those years ago, your name I called" – he pulled her shift over her head – "in my sleep. It was you that was with me when I was with another woman. Always. It drove me mad with wanting you." Raja stripped him of his clothes.

Tristan covered her with his body as they lay in front of the fire. "And you're mine," he moaned as he entered her.

------------------------------------------

Lancelot closed the door behind him and Sophia, still furious. "You should have listened to me, Sophia."

She spun around to face him. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

He sidestepped her question. "I told you that you can trust no Roman."

"_All_ of them?"

"Perhaps not all, but the men you can never trust. I know the debauchery they are capable of, especially with women."

"Lancelot, I cannot go around judging people I do not know."

"Then trust my judgment. And if you cannot, at least take it into consideration. Was today not enough proof?"

She sighed. "One man, Lancelot. And you almost killed him!"

"Look at yourself, Sophia. Look what he did. He was going to rape you, and you stand there as if he was merely forcing you to shake his hand."

"But he did not rape me," she stressed. "And I'll be damned if any man ever will."

Lancelot's indignation left him, and his shoulders seemed to slump. "My love, even women with the strongest will cannot always prevent it from happening. And if anything like that ever..." – he cleared the lump in his throat – "Well, I do not take so kindly to people who trifle with what is mine."

"There you go again with 'mine'! You make it sound as if I am an object!"

"I cannot help that I consider you mine. You have one heart and I own it, does that not make it so?" he snapped. "Just as you have mine, woman. And I wish you would not be so careless when it comes to other men. Sometimes it is innocent, but not always. And I won't have anyone violating another person I love!" Lancelot left her room in a fury.

---------------------------------------------

The next day after Sophia's afternoon shift in the tavern, she entered her room to see cuts of fabric in different shades of blue, and ribbons of lace and silk. And on the very top lay a lush daisy.

"Thought you might need something for a new dress." Lancelot spoke from the table by the window. And it was a pain in the ass shopping for such things. He had come to the rather startling conclusion that outside of the bedroom, he knew very little about a woman's needs. And the price of such things! But he also found that he had considerably more coin now that whores were no longer on the menu. "And the daisy...much nicer than roses."

Sophia smiled at him, looking through the different linens he had bought her. "Thank you." Her brown eyes glittered as she bent down to kiss him.

"It's just cloth," he jested, but pleased that she was pleased.

"Mmm-hmm. Well, all the same."

Lancelot pulled her onto his lap and fluttered soft kisses on her neck.

"I am sorry for losing my temper with you yesterday." His eyes opened wide, staring at her in shock. She was apologizing? "I have been on my own for so long that I am not yet used to someone always trying to protect me as you do."

Lancelot muttered, "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I never meant to imply that what happened yesterday was your fault." He felt her gentle nod against his head. "And I do not mean to make you feel like an object. I've never been in love, and all this is new to me. Even I was surprised at the intensity of my possessiveness. I never knew I had it in me."

Sophia chuckled, and stroked his cheek. "I am new to this, as well. I suppose it will be trial and error between us for a while."

"Perhaps. But I still do not like other men touching you." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "That, I cannot help."

"I guess I'll have to accept that," she said reasonably. "But why were you so angry, Lancelot? I have never seen you so."

He looked out the window at the bright sun.

"Someone you care about was hurt?" she asked quietly. "By a Roman?"

His brown eyes gazed into hers somberly, and he rested his head against her chest for a moment. When he had seen that man atop his Sophia, fear and fury consumed him. He could hear all of his cousin's anguished screams, see all of her blank stares, and he did not want that for Sophia. "She was only eleven," he said, his voice strained. "Picking flowers." He never spoke to anyone about how he felt of Raja's trials.

She inhaled a quick breath, but said nothing.

"And it hurt her all the more because," – his arms tightened around her – "when she was six, she had been..." Gods, he could not even say it, but Sophia nodded her head to show him she understood. "But the Roman...Tristan came upon them, and stopped him before he could rape her. She was still badly beaten, though. Her screaming, the crying, just all her pain...there was nothing I could do."

All the while he was speaking, a coldness crept through Sophia's blood. "It...wasn't Raja was it?" She stared at him in trepidation.

He nodded. "I do not ever want that for you."

Sophia could see the fear in his eyes, the worry, the love. All he wanted was to protect her, but being foreign to a relationship, he had simply not known how to go about it with ease. And her lack of knowledge muddled the situation, as well.

"I love you," he mumbled in her neck. He stopped her words with his mouth, the two of them coming together, falling to their knees in front of the other.

_My body aches to breathe your breath  
_

_You words keep me alive_

_Nothing stands between us here  
_

_And I won't be denied_

_-Sarah McLachlan_

4/23/07


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